


cuddles but make it (mostly) fluffy

by polkaprintpjs



Series: old west au [3]
Category: The Transformers (IDW Generation One), Transformers - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Human, F/F, Humanformers, POV Second Person, old west au
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-25
Updated: 2020-08-25
Packaged: 2021-03-06 14:40:44
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 699
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26100556
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/polkaprintpjs/pseuds/polkaprintpjs
Summary: Are you happy, here? Do you miss home?
Relationships: Tailgate/Whirl
Series: old west au [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1893397
Comments: 2
Kudos: 4





	cuddles but make it (mostly) fluffy

You blow out the lantern and carefully walk back to Tailgate. 

She’s on the pallet, waiting for you; in the dim light through the window, you can just make out the blonde of her hair against the pillow. She leans up enough for you to slide an arm under her head as she pulls the blankets over the both of you, lays her head on your shoulder as you curl your arm around her. You tuck your free arm behind your head- the pillow is so thin as to be nearly worthless. 

You can feel the press of your bones against her body and want to pull away- she can’t be comfortable. 

You stay, though, because this is a conversation you’ve had before and like hell you’ll begrudge her this. 

“Whirl,” she says soft, into the dark. 

You hum in answer, knowing she can feel from where she’s pressed to your side. Still, it’s a moment before she speaks. 

“Do you miss home?” 

You watch the ceiling, wooden slats shadowed in the dark. 

“No.” You say, flatly. 

You don’t miss that place at all. Your stomach cramps, though, at the idea  _ she _ doesn’t want to be here. You don’t have the courage to ask, though, so you stay silent. 

The low sounds of the town filter in- even now, so late, Swerve’s is buzzing. 

“I didn’t even think about it until today. I didn't think of my parents once since we came here, until someone asked if my mother knew I was a barkeep.” 

You wish you had the words to comfort her. Her voice shakes and the shoulder of your nightshirt grows hot and wet. 

“I didn’t think of them at all- Whirl, I wish-“ 

She falls quiet, now. You tilt your head toward her, achingly slow; the thrill that shoots through you when your heads rest together is guilty enough you fight not to flinch away. She breathes in, a soft startled noise, but finds the words to continue. 

“I don’t miss them, Whirl. I’m happy here. Aren’t you?” 

You take a moment to answer, because relief stole your breath entirely. Your voices are low in the dark. 

“‘Course I am, ‘Gate. I’m happy here, happier than I thought I ever could be.” 

Your insides writhe with shame at your openness, but her tears slow, and that’s incentive enough to speak. 

“There’s nothing for me, there. Here, though-“

and here, your words fail. She carries on for you. 

“What’s important is here, you mean.” You nod into her hair and feel her smile against your shoulder. 

After a moment, she shifts enough to lay an arm across your stomach, holding you back, and the simple touch is enough to send fresh heat across your sun-touched face. 

You stare at the ceiling and hope your flush can’t be felt through your shirt. 

You venture, “Is it that you don’t miss them, and you’re thinking you ought?” 

She sniffles a bit. 

“I suppose. They’re my parents, and I love them. Shouldn’t I want to see them?” 

You shrug, then wince when the movement jostles her. 

“I don’t miss mine. You can write letters, can’t you? That way they’ll know they’re in your thoughts.” 

She nods, slowly. 

“That’s an excellent idea. I’ll need to go by the store tomorrow, for paper.” 

You adjust your free arm, pull it from behind your head to rest over the arm embracing you. 

“I’ll send your regards, as well,” she says, and you know she’s already got the letter planned out in her mind. 

A shadow passes before the window, and moves on. You watch its passage, out of habit more than real concern- it’s been nigh on three years now since you came here, and your fears have slowly been eased by the time. 

Tailgate sighs, and the sound is soft and tired. You’re reminded of the long day you’ve worked, and the same awaiting tomorrow; still, you don’t grudge the time spent in conversation rather than sleep. 

Your eye grows heavy as you listen to your shared breaths. 

This, here, on thin bedding on a wood floor- this, to you, is worth far more than all the beds and looms in Scotland. 

**Author's Note:**

> on tumblr @megatronismegagone


End file.
